Days To Come
by RedTigerRose
Summary: Why is it that everytime shit hits the fan, a mage is found in the middle of the chaos? Solona Amell struggles with her own morality as she is haunted by her choices. Evelyn Trevelyan has trouble finding her purpose in the world. Cullen Rutherford struggles with his past and tries to overcome his demons. Warning: lots of time jumps and different POV's.
1. Chapter 1

_Blessed are they who stand before_  
 _The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._  
 _Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._  
 _• Benedictions 4:10_

 _Haven, 9:41 Dragon_

The valley echoed with the clang of metal as the recruits practiced in the early morning light. Rays of sunshine beamed from the edges of the Frostbacks, the warmth barely scraping against the cold that radiated from the snow crunching beneath boots. The sky was a robin egg blue; beautiful and innocent. It promised good days ahead, it seemed.

And yet the commander's heart remained heavy in his chest. It has been almost ten years since he had returned to his homeland, nearly ten years since his boots had touched Fereldan soil. His cheeks pink from the cold and clouds of breath escaping his lips with every breath, he supervised his men as they ran their drills, giving short, stern commands when he felt they needed it - which was often.

Nearby, smoke from cooking fires rose up from behind the walls of Haven, once a quiet village that now bustled with activity.

The Seeker and the Nightingale had been busy, calling on those they trusted to join the cause.

What that cause was exactly, the commander still wasn't sure. The mage-Templar war had been raging for the past couple of years, sparked by the destruction of the Chantry in Kirkwall. The rebellion had swept across southern Thedas, and when shit hit the fan, it was always the common-folk who suffered.

Being a former Templar himself, the commander knew deep in his heart that it was his duty to protect the innocent from the evil and corruption of magic and all that came with it.

A lot had happened to him in the last decade. Much that he wasn't proud of. Much that still woke him late at night in a cold sweat, the faces of demons lingering in the shadows.

His time as a Templar had been over after the events of Kirkwall. He now saw the corruption within the ranks of an order he had respected since he was just a boy, and his rose-tinted glasses had been shattered when Meredith called for a mass genocide. It was too much - they were going too far, at last.

When Cassandra Pentaghast had approached him about her plans, he had been willing to accept, walking away from the Templar order forever. He didn't even look back. There was no telling what the future held - all he knew was that this was his time for redemption.

The cold of the mountains was a blessing upon his cheeks - so unlike the muggy, sticky heat of Kirkwall. The open air seemed to soothe his soul, finally being away from tall walls and narrow streets, darkened by corruption. The city that had been so full of promises for a new start for the young man had been quickly broken as his responsibilities grew and his trust dwindled. Climbing through the ranks and becoming knight-captain, second only to the knight-commander, he had been living what he once thought would be a dream life, his hard work and dedication finally recognized.

Instead, his eyes had been opened again to the evil of the world, the evil of mankind, and the evil of magic. He once again was exposed to the madness that power granted to those greedy enough to take it, and his beliefs were shaken to the very core. Yet, this time, he saw madness in the very order he had dedicated his life to, and his former convictions and assumptions were shattered.

The long years in Kirkwall had changed him from the young, naïve, angry man he once was. Whether he had changed for the better, he did not yet know.

Pacing between his recruits as they trained, he watched as they blocked and jabbed, lunged and dodged. They were getting better, he thought to himself. Not that he would tell them that.

"Is that a shield in your hand?" he barked. "Block with it."

His time training Templar's at Kirkwall had given him the proper credentials to train the recruits for Cassandra's cause. He had brought the few remaining Templar's loyal to him along, and the numbers had grown as they had traveled north to Haven. Now, he found himself in charge of almost eighty men and women, all eager to prove themselves as warriors.

He worried for days to come - despite the sunny optimism of the sky above, he knew from the way that an anxious fear coiled in his stomach that dark days were brewing. He had grown a knack for sensing danger, it seemed.

Still, he continued to hold on to a sense of hope. He still prayed to the Maker for guidance, for the redemption of his soul, for deliverance. He hoped that Cassandra's - well, they weren't giving it a title yet - cause would bear fruit in days to come. And he hoped - although he knew it very well could be in vain - that his small troop of soldiers would never have to be blooded.

Maybe, just maybe, he could witness a happy ending. A pocket of happiness in this Maker-forsaken life.

Thedas had been in turmoil for the past couple of years, and it was the innocent who suffered the most. The commander was glad to hear that his family was at least out of the way from the bulk of the chaos. Small blessings. But hearing the reports of farms being burnt to the ground, homes being ravaged, people being mugged and raped and murdered in the streets over a couple of copper coins - it was too much. Something needed to change.

He hoped and prayed that the Conclave would be their deliverance. That the Devine could make some sense of the madness.

He hoped this was the end.

A rider cantered near the training grounds, carrying a satchel full of letters over his shoulder. The hooves of the small chestnut kicked up rocks and snow as it glided past, carrying news from the outside world. The commander suspected there was another letter from his sister, scolding him for not writing back in a timely manner.

His recruits had been working hard since before the sunrise, sweat dripping from brews as they continued to batter each other with blunt weapons. The commander figured he would give them a couple more minutes, then call for a break until after lunch.

He really wanted a cup of tea.

A couple of birds swooped overhead, cooing to each other as they glided by on feathered wings.

A dog was barking somewhere behind the walls of Haven.

Besides that, everything seemed still and silent. As though the world were holding its breath.

The Conclave would be starting soon.

Everything would make sense again.

The commander gave the signal, and his recruits ceased in their training, sweaty and breathless.

"Great work this morning," said the commander. "We will continue drills after lunch this afternoon. Go and take a break - "

"Commander Cullen," said one of the recruits suddenly, pointing over the commander's shoulder. "What is - "

 _BOOM._


	2. Chapter 2

_Trevelyan Estate, 9:37 Dragon_

The bride looked absolutely stunning in her gown, all golden curls and pearly white lace, her smile radiant as she linked arms with her new husband. The gardens had been decorated with colorful ribbons and bouquets of flowers for the event, the great glass doors of the ballroom flung open to let in the fresh spring air. Servants made their way through the mingling crowd of nobles, carrying trays of wine and hors d'oeuvres as the violinists coaxed sweet music from their instruments.

It seemed as though every noble from across the Free Marches and beyond were in attendance, all fine gowns and plumed headdresses, Orlesian silk adorning slender shoulders and exotic wine in golden goblets.

Evelyn felt out of place, although her sisters had dressed her up to look the part. Juliet had spent a solid three hours doing her makeup, made difficult by her incredibly swollen belly, full with child. Penelope had curled her hair into ringlets, letting them cascade over her bare shoulders. Her breasts were pushed up in a tight bodice, flowing skirts that were so unlike her regular Circle robes that she felt as though she stood out like a sore thumb. Her sisters insisted that the royal blue dress brought out the storminess of her eyes. She still hadn't decided if that was a compliment or an insult.

Although it was probably imagined, Evelyn couldn't help but think that a ring had been placed around her as she stood near the fountain in the center of the gardens, second glass of Antivan gold in her hand. No one dares step inside the ring, she thought to herself, sipping the sweet liquid as her eyes swept across the crowd.

Not half an hour earlier, her cousin Raelynn had said her vows to Philip Darrow, a member of a small - albeit incredibly rich - Kirkwall household. A beautiful ceremony, including Chantry songs and blessings from the Maker, ordained by the Grand Cleric of Ostwick herself.

The perfect wedding.

Evelyn tried her best to ignore the bitter glances from her mother. She knew the unsaid words.

 _This could have been you._

If Evelyn hadn't been infected with the terrible curse a couple of years prior, she would have been the one standing at that altar, making those same vows to the handsome Philip. But, once she was sent away to the Ostwick circle, the shame of the Trevelyan family, her betrothed had been passed over to the daughter of Bann Trevelyan's sister.

Marriage alliances were what was important here, clearly.

But that didn't stop Philip from sending Evelyn love letters and poems while she was locked away in the Circle, and it definitely didn't stop him from stealing away into her private quarters the night before, to finally claim the woman that would have been his if only she had never been cursed with magic.

They had lain in her great four-poster bed after, and a part of her had hoped that maybe they could slip away, escape this entire charade and be together. On the run for their lives, like lovers in the stories. The sheets beneath them were still moist, their bodies hot and slick from making love. The night chill blew through the open doors of her balcony, and she had looked up at the man she had been promised to since they were but children.

He had often claimed through letters that he truly loved her, not her cousin. That it was a duty that would ultimately keep them apart, not love. And while he was deep inside her, claiming her maidenhood, at last, he had whispered sweet, sweet words of devotion and eternal love.

But looking up at him now, that glimmer of love was extinguished from his eyes. He had slowly sat up, found his trousers, and left.

"My love - " she had said. Pathetically, she now thought.

"Do not tell anyone about tonight," he said, not even looking at her.

She had practically scrambled from the bed, still naked, and found herself clutching to his shirt as he pulled it about his broad shoulders.

"It won't happen again," he said simply, pushing her away from him.

As he made his vows to her cousin, the words bit into her chest like knives. He glanced her way only once, a faint smile on his lips when their eyes met, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

It dawned on her that she had merely become another notch on his bedpost. A curiosity he wanted to be sated with the could-have-been. The last hurrah, before he settled down with his forever bride.

Her heart ached, but she kept her composure. She was a noble first, a mage second, she reminded herself. Although that didn't stop the surge of electricity she felt surging through her arms and to her hands. She clenched her fingers around the magic, keeping it contained.

Now that the formalities were over, she planned on enjoying the precious pocket of freedom she had from the Circle - thanks to her father's generous donations to the Chantry.

She plucked another glass of wine off the tray of a passing serving girl. Getting drunk was a fabulous idea right now.

The great ballroom of the Trevelyan estate had always been breathtaking, and the faint familiarity Evelyn had with it did nothing to hide her awe of the beautiful ivory banisters leading up to galleries surrounded the dancefloor, the deep blue draperies in stark contrast to the cream wallpaper.

Being a Circle mage, she often forgot that she was also from a rich family.

She danced with her father for a couple of songs, and then with her uncle Tobias after that. When the men disappeared to smoke a cigar with the other gentlemen, she sat with her great-aunt Lucille, who was always happy to discuss politics and courtly gossip.

Her mother avoided her, as always.

"She just doesn't know what to say to you," Penelope reassured her when she finally caught up with her.

"I'm still her daughter," Evelyn said sadly.

Juliet had retired to her chambers early, the pregnancy making her tire quicker than usual. Penelope dragged Evelyn around the reception, keen to show off her younger sister, as though everyone forgot that Penelope was not actually the youngest. But Evelyn grew irate with Penelope, who would point out the ice sculpture of a swan or a chocolate fountain, exclaiming that she needed that at her own wedding that would take place later in the summer.

"You need to be able to come to my wedding too," she said matter-of-factly to her younger sister. "You came to Juliet's. You need to tell your head mage thingy it's only fair."

"I'll try my best," said Evelyn with a roll of her eyes. Despite her father's donations, times were getting tougher in the Circles. It wasn't a matter of letting her go to her sister's wedding, and more of a people's safety when it came to letting a mage attend family occasions.

As much as she wanted to see her sister on her big day, it still made a painful lump in her throat. Weddings and babies were not a part of her future as a mage, and she hated the constant reminder now that the Trevelyan children were all growing up. Being surrounded by her nieces and nephews made her feel like she was left out, as though a barrier had been put up between her family and herself and she could only enjoy it if she pressed her face against the glass and peered inside. Her two elder brothers, Keith and Isaac, were already well on their way to double-digit anniversaries with their wives, their children already walking and talking.

More milestones that will never be enjoyed firsthand for Evelyn.

She grasped at another glass of wine, nearly knocking an entire tray from the hands of the servant.

"Maybe you should slow down on the wine," said Penelope, although a playful smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.

"Maybe you should try to catch up," answered Evelyn, her eyes shining.

As irritating as her sisters could be, Evelyn enjoyed the precious pockets of time she got to spend with them. While she stayed at the Trevelyan estate, she could imagine at least for a while that she was a regular woman, enjoying the privileges of a noble lady of her age.

She went for a leisurely ride with her sister Penelope and their cousins the day after the wedding - a Trevelyan tradition. The men went hunting with the dogs whilst the women went horseback riding - except for Juliet, who was too pregnant. Setting out midmorning, the women were still bleary-eyed from the night's festivities but still full of joy over the new marriage.

Evelyn tried to absorb as much of the outdoors as possible, the wind whipping her hair about her face, the cool morning air like a tender kiss upon her cheeks. The smells of the flowers and trees as they bloomed in the midst of spring sunshine filled the air. Glimpsing deer and squirrels and various birds going about their daily business, the standards of the world not a concern of theirs. She tried to name as many of the flowers as possible - bluebells and daffodils, crystal grace and embrium, the colors more vibrant than the pictures she saw in books at the Circle. The grey mare beneath her trotted merrily along the trail, and she patted her shoulders. It felt good to ride again.

As the party headed back up the road towards the estate, Evelyn listened as Raelynn whispered with her sisters about consummating her marriage. The ladies giggled, feeling so outrageous. Raelynn met Evelyn's eyes, a small smile on her lips. Evelyn wondered if she knew what had happened the night before her wedding day.

After changing out of her riding leathers and washing up, Evelyn was summoned by Juliet for a lunch out in the gardens. "Just us girls," said Juliet, her hands absentmindedly rubbing over her big belly as Evelyn and Penelope slid into their seats.

"I can't wait until you can come for rides with us again, Jules," said Penelope, as a serving girl poured her tea into a tiny saucer. "No one rides horses quite like us Trevelyan's. Raelynn, Antoinette, and Mary are too slow."

Penelope wore a cream jacket over a light blue dress, her hair adorned with flowers as though she wasn't just enjoying lunch with her sisters. Juliet had a great bonnet on her golden head, hiding much of her features in shadow. She claimed that the sun was bad for the baby, and no one cared enough to argue.

Evelyn felt plain compared to her sisters, wearing a simpler dress in comparison that was still fancier than any of the robes she wore at the Circle. How she wished she could dress up as much as they did, looking like a queen as they feasted on sandwiches, cupcakes, and rose hip tea. How her life would be so different, if only she hadn't been touched by magic.

"Get this child out of me and I will ride with you every day, Penny," said Juliet, fanning at herself as the sun reached its apex in the sky.

"Are you nervous?" said Evelyn, pouring three big scoops of sugar into her cup. She liked her tea very sweet.

"Very," said Juliet, a look of concern on her face. "However, Father says I have the best midwives in all the Free Marches. And I've been praying every day."

"I can't wait to get pregnant," said Penelope wistfully.

"Yes, you can," replied Juliet. "Your feet swell up and your back hurts and you're tired all the time and it's too hot. And if you're not careful you will get pregnant before the wedding." She added with a sly grin.

Penelope giggled wickedly, her eyes flashing. "I wanted to try him out first before we are wed."

"How scandalous," said Evelyn, rolling her eyes as the sisters laughed.

"What about you, Evie?" said Penelope. "Ever get to have a bit of fun in the Circle?"

Evelyn gulped, wondering if she should tell her sisters the truth. It was no secret in the Circle that mages sometimes fornicated, and Evelyn had sometimes fooled around with a couple of the men when she found the chance - she had quickly learned that there were other ways to give and receive pleasure without having sex. But she had been holding out, saving herself for Philip. She cringed inwardly at the stupidity of it, at the old-fashioned notion she had held onto that remaining a virgin meant that Philip would want her.

She felt like a stupid, naïve child.

"Sometimes," she said, trying to look mischievous as opposed to guilty. "In the darkest corners - oh Maker, please don't tell mother - "

The girls giggled together, as they had for many years before now. Evelyn wistfully remembered her childhood, growing up in these very gardens, learning to read and write and paint and sing and dance and ride -

Before she started having the nightmares, and her mother had taken her to the Chantry, and it was discovered she had been born a mage.

How her mother had cried and prayed. Her father had tried his best to make sense of it. But there was no sense to make. Even the most pious of families could still become cursed, it seemed.

Evelyn had left her home at twelve to live in the Circle, staying in contact through letters to her sisters - and Philip, of course.

Her mother hadn't really spoken to her properly since the life-changing diagnosis, and it left Evelyn feeling very alone in a confusing world. She prayed to Andraste nightly for deliverance, in vain. She hated her magical abilities, at first. She stopped attending the Chantry, she felt the deep rift that spread between herself and the future her family had wanted for her.

She knew that her mother was mostly worried about what others would think. Having to pass off a respectable marriage arrangement to someone else, being asked questions about her wayward child who now practiced witchcraft.

But, as though in spite of her mother, Evelyn embraced her magic. Her family never showed much interest in it, she quickly found out, but in the Circle she had found a place she felt somewhat at home - practicing under Senior Enchanter Lydia, learning to wield her powers and study the different schools of magic with a newfound interest.

And although she turned away from the Chantry, she never stopped believing in Andraste or the Maker - there had to be some reason she had been granted magic, surely?

By the time Penelope's wedding came around, the Ostwick Circle had been put on lockdown. Although the templars were reluctant to tell the mages exactly what had happened lest they give their own charges ideas, it didn't stop the stories from seeping through the walls.

A mage had allegedly gone insane and blown up the Chantry in Kirkwall, as an act of resilience to templar mistreatment. The Grand Cleric of Kirkwall was amongst the hundreds of casualties in the initial blast, as well as many innocents afterward. If the stories were to be believed, the knight-commander had called for a rite of annulment, and many innocent mages were killed in the streets, as well as countless bystanders.

The thought sickened Evelyn. As if there wasn't enough alienation between mages and templars, now the guards eyed each and every one of them with suspicion, as though at any moment one of them would blow the Circle to smithereens.

The surviving mages of Kirkwall had rebelled, and the Circle in the Gallows had crumbled. The news was that now riots were happening in Circles across the south.

The few freedoms Evelyn enjoyed in the Ostwick's Circle were slowly revoked. She was practically escorted with the other mages like cattle to meal times, research hours, and duties, and then back to their chambers.

One evening, three weeks after the fall of Kirkwall, she sat with Senior Enchanter Lydia, her mentor and the closest thing to a mother she had ever known since her unofficial disowning. The older mage, her blond hair slowly graying at the temples, looked dejected as she gazed into the fireplace inside her office. Evelyn, having been her student in the years leading up to her Harrowing, had made an excuse to come and talk to her in private.

Although the templars were reluctant at first, Evelyn had assured them that she just wanted some motherly advice, and they could sit in the room and listen if they so pleased. They sat guard just outside the chamber doors, their visors down and hands clasped on hilts.

The women shared a pot of lavender tea and sat in comfortable silence by the fire for a few minutes as Evelyn pondered what she wanted to ask.

"Do you think the Circle is a good thing?" she ventured.

Lydia pursed her lips, and at first, it seemed as though she was ignoring the question. Then she spoke.

"If there was no Circle, what would have become of you?"

Evelyn was initially taken aback, and she frowned. "I - I've never thought about it before - "

"You come from a long line of non-mages. Would you have learned to control your magic by your own wits alone? Did your Chantry offer you literature on magic that said anything other than 'magic is never to rule over man'?"

Evelyn cocked her head to the side, thinking. "My parents may have tried to pray my magic away," she said, the corner of her lip curling into a grin. "Force me to suppress it, pretend I never had it."

"That wouldn't be healthy at all, would it, my girl?' said Lydia, taking a tentative sip of her tea and licking her lips.

"Suppressing magic is dangerous, too," continued Evelyn. "I read somewhere - "

"Read where?" Cut in Lydia. "A book from the Chantry? Or perhaps your family's own personal library?"

Lydia suppressed a chuckle. "No. I read it in the Circle library." She sighed, leaning back in her seat. "I see your point, I really do. The Circle is all about education and protection. It's for us as much as for them."

Lydia nodded slowly, and Evelyn saw the sadness in her eyes. They were standing on the precipice of change, that was certain. Lydia had seen much in her life, but Evelyn was sure that nothing as chaotic as this.

"Rebelling only gets us so far," Lydia continued, cupping her mug of tea tightly as though it would fly away. "The rebel mages have the attention of all of Thedas now. By continuing to riot, they do nothing but prove those who are afraid of magic right - that they need to be controlled and suppressed. Things need to change, that much is true. But now is not the time to rebel. Now is the time for thinking, and discussing, and compromising. It is in the days to come that someone will need to start making sense of this chaos."


	3. Chapter 3

I _am the one that can recount what we've lost._

 _I am the one who will live on._

 _Andoral's Reach, 9:40 Dragon_

The leaves rustled in the soft breeze as the group huddled beneath the great tree atop the hill in silence. The freshly turned earth was dark against the tufts of yellow grass and white knotted roots, and a name had been carved into a stone that was leaning against the trunk.

 _Wynne._

The group who stood at the elderly archmage's final resting place were an odd bunch. A mage, an ex-templar, and a golem, to name a few.

The group started to disperse slowly; first the golem, it's footsteps thundering against the ground as it went, regardless of how gently it tried. Then the mage and ex-templar, hand in hand as though they were lovers. Slowly, the group left in ones and twos, until three remained. The young red-headed woman -who had sung an old Dalish song just minutes earlier - now stood motionless, hands clasped together as tears silently fell down her cheeks.

She exchanged a glance with the hooded figure who had stood a little apart from the group. The face was concealed, but she knew who it was. The gloved hand resting on the head of her aging mabari was a dead giveaway.

The war hound let out a low whine, then bowed his head.

The red-headed woman approached the hooded figure and saw a glittering within the darkness that she understood as silent tears. She held the arm of her friend gently, then gave her a quick nod before leaving down the hill towards where the others had headed.

The Grey Warden, alone at last, approached the resting place of her old mentor and friend. She crouched down, touching the fresh dirt with her gloved hand, and let a sob escape her lips.

The mabari nuzzled her shoulder in comfort.

"Did you know my mother well?"

She turned slowly, so as not to look startled.

The mage had returned, alone.

He was handsome, his dark hair greying at the temples.

The likeness between him and Wynne was obvious, as the Grey Warden push back her hood slightly, revealing her face and shock of red hair.

"She's an old friend," the Grey Warden said. She nodded to him then, wishing to say more, but knowing she couldn't.

She looked back to the grave once more, her blue eyes full of sadness.

"Farewell," she said simply, then turned away, glancing towards the tree line below the hill they stood upon.

She started to make her way down the hill when the mage spoke up.

"You're her," he said. She paused, glancing behind her at the mage. "You're the one who slew the archdemon."

She nodded once, closing her eyes briefly. "Indeed, I am." She took a deep breath, opening her eyes again, and gave him a small ghost of a smile. "Maker watch over you in the days to come, friend."

He nodded back to her. "Maker watch over you," he echoed back softly as she turned away once more, and headed down the hill towards where her black horse was tethered just beyond the tree line, her mabari trotting obediently beside her.

 _"You're her."_

 _Who am I?_

She wondered to herself as she let her mare pick her way through the trees, staying out of sight of the main road and following the slowly setting sun.

Beatrice Solona Amell was the name she was left with, twenty-eight years ago at a chantry in Lothering.

Beatrice was the name the Revered Mother and Chantry sisters had called her as she learned to read and write and sing during holy days.

Trixie was the name her cousin Bethany had given to her when she had unknowingly stumbled into the lives of long-lost relatives living just a short walk from Lothering.

Solona was the name she wore when her magic manifested, and she had gone to the Circle tower in Ferelden. Her time in Kinloch Hold had been long and tough for her. She didn't make many friends and the letters from the Hawke's were few and far between.

She then became Warden Amell, and later on the Hero of Ferelden. But with that title came a myriad of anger, sadness, loss. No one knew how she survived, and only three living souls in Thedas would ever know if she could help it.

Commander of the Grey followed that, and then she was Solona Theirin, beloved wife of the bastard prince of Ferelden. Not that any really remembered that anymore. She and Alistair worked hard over the years to build back the Ferelden Grey Wardens - sort of their way of building a family together, seeing as that future was now lost to them.

 _Who am I?_

Now, she just didn't know.

She was alone, besides her faithful hound and trusty steed.

She had always been alone, really.

Living in the Chantry in Lothering, she enjoyed small pockets of family bliss with the Hawke's, when she was able to sneak away and spend time with them.

The three friends she did make while in the Circle were complicated.

 _Jowan. Cullen. Anders._

She had let them all down.

Guilt gnawed at her insides whenever she thought of them.

The sadness in the eyes of Jowan when she sentenced him to death. For blood magic, of course. But that didn't stop her from allowing him to use it to save the son of an arl from the clutches of a demon.

The hurt in Anders' eyes when she sent him away after he sought refuge at Vigil's Keep after the explosion in Kirkwall.

"As Commander of the Grey I order you to go to your Calling," she had said, not even blinking as she, too, sentenced an old friend - and lover - to death. "Your time here is over."

And Cullen. Guilt made her squirm in her saddle just thinking about him, even after all these years. How she had lusted after him while under his charge in the Circle. Her occasional hook-ups with Anders were spent with her eyes closed, imagining it was Cullen fucking her against the bookshelves at the back of the library. The night she left the Circle, she had run into him, coincidentally, at the Inn at the docks on Lake Calenhad. Even though both had been drunk - and she was technically no longer a Circle mage - she had still seduced the young, virgin templar. She knew full well his feelings for her.

And she knew he would regret it come morning when sober thoughts took over. But she just wanted that one night with him.

It was always what she wanted.

But when she woke up in the bed alone, sadness took over.

She had taken advantage, and lost a good friend.

And the hate she saw in his eyes, after the massacre that happened in Kinloch Hold upon her return months later. He spat words of venom at her. About her, and her kind.

It was because of her Jowan escaped, after all. And blood magic spread like a plague across the Circle.

Jowan was dead because of her. Anders was probably dead because of her. And she had turned the one decent, kind templar into a mage-hating, magic-fearing man.

And how she missed her friends from the Blight. Zevran and his neverending innuendos - Maker knew where he was now. Oghren had left to visit his family soon after the defeat of the Mother, and never returned. Sten was now apparently the new Arishock, whatever that really meant.

When once she had traveled with her companions during the Blight - times not spent fighting were filled with songs and banter, stories and jokes - she now traveled in silence, save for the clip-clopping of her horse's hooves and the occasional warning growl from her mabari when a threat came too close.

Avoiding villages and inns, she mostly slept outside, under the stars.

She hated being recognized.

Late at night, while spying out the constellations strewn across the velvet of night, she wondered if her beloved was also looking at the same stars.

"Look at the sky," she had told him as she cupped his face and kissed his nose. "As long as we both see the same stars, we won't be that far apart."

Alistair didn't want her to leave. They had fought about it and fought hard.

The angry yelling had turned into angry fucking which had turned into making love.

One more time, he had begged her to stay.

"I can't."

 _Who am I?_

A hero no more.

Urthemiel lay dead almost a decade now.

Almost ten years and she wondered how Morrigan was faring with the child conceived days before the great battle at Denerim.

She missed her friends. She missed her husband.

Seeing Leliana had been hard. She didn't want to say too much, didn't want to get roped back into someone else's problem.

"This is not my fight," she had told Leliana upon meeting her outside the Winter Palace during a ball held for the Divine, as she ventured west.

"There was a day when you would have made it your fight," Leliana said bitterly, then regretted it.

Solona left without saying another word.

Heroes stay and fight the fights, she thought to herself.

"I'm a hero no more," she said out loud one night, laying under the stars. "I just want to live. I want to grow old with my love. Maker, don't take him from me."

Despite growing up in the Chantry, she had never really believed in the Maker. Yet she found herself praying more and more as the years slipped by.

Grey Wardens didn't live long, and her and Alistair's Calling loomed over them like a heavy cloud.

She knew no magic that could dispel it.

She would never be happy unless she could cure their Calling.

The same as she would never have been happy if one of them had died slaying Urthemiel. They weren't supposed to be alive.

And as soon as she saw an out, she took it.

 _In death, sacrifice? Not today._

No matter the cost.

It may not have quite been blood magic, but it was forbidden and wrong, and she could still ultimately pay for it in years to come.

But she didn't care. She and Alistair lived. That was all that mattered.

That is all that matters, still.

And she wouldn't stop until she found the Cure. The rest of the world could burn for all she cared.

 _Who am I?_

 _I am a very selfish woman._


	4. Chapter 4

_Lake Calenhad, 9:30 Dragon_

It had been a long day.

Solona stripped off her armor, which was caked in blood and grime from the battle. She peeled her undergarments free from her skin, taking into account the new cuts and bruises that covered her arms and legs and crisscrossed down her abdomen. Naked, she lowered herself into the cool water of the lake, letting the coldness numb her aches and pains.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged herself under the surface, and let out a scream.

Since the fall of the king at Ostagar, nothing had gone right. Two Grey Wardens remained in all of Thedas, and the odds were absolutely against them.

They reached Lothering too late - it had been destroyed by the horde of darkspawn, the small thatched houses and tiny chantry building left gutted and smoldering. The smell of death burned at their nostrils as they picked their way through the carnage, Solona took care not to look at the faces too closely - she couldn't bare recognizing anyone from her childhood. Not right now. Not ever.

Beyond the fields they encountered a small quartet - two dwarves, a chantry lay sister and a qunari. The remaining survivors of the massacre at Lothering, and the first to join the companions since leaving the Korcari Wilds.

Solona and Alistair remained quiet as they trekked through the countryside for Redcliffe, where Alistair claimed that the arl would assist them. She knew he mourned the loss of the other Wardens, and of Duncan, especially. Seeing his handsome features contorted with grief broke her heart, and she eventually coaxed a conversation from him, letting him know she was there for him if need be.

They formed an understanding - they needed each other, now more than ever, if they were to defeat the Blight and bring Loghain to justice.

They grew more excited as the town of Redcliffe came into view, thoughts of hot baths and a square meal lightening the mood of the group considerably.

Until they descended into the valley and were met with more carnage.

Staying to help the villagers of Redcliffe wasn't even worth questioning. To Solona, it was her duty - as a Grey Warden, and as a Fereldan.

They fought through the night, keeping morale high amongst the villagers, and battling through waves of undead. When the sun rose the next day, many of the villagers had survived. They were exhausted, yet still alive.

And then the truth came out - the son of the arl was a young mage, and he was possessed. Arl Eamon was gravely ill, and the arlessa was hysterical.

And then there was Jowan.

Solona was coiled like a snake when she encountered her former friend. Angry, upset, frustrated - they all popped up at once, and she found herself fighting back tears at the pathetic mage before her.

"I trusted you," she said quietly, keeping her emotions in check as her body quaked beneath her blue and silver armor. "You betrayed that trust."

"Trust me now, please," he begged. "I want to help."

And like a sickness that would forever return, blood magic was on the table again.

Lady Isolde volunteered as the sacrifice needed to perform a ritual to save her son. Solona didn't want to slay a child - not even a possessed child - she saw no other way.

But as the noblewoman bled out before them and she readied herself to enter the Fade, Alistair stormed from the room, and her stomach clenched in guilt, like a fist tightened inside her gut.

The demon was easy enough to slay once she entered the Fade, but Alistair was inconsolable once she found him out in the courtyard of Redcliffe castle.

He wouldn't even look at her.

A short restless sleep came that night, and then she roused the group for more travel. They were leaving to find Andraste's ashes.

"I need to make this right," she told Leliana, as Bann Teagan supplied them with provisions and horses for the journey west.

Along the way they encountered an assassin, who Solona disarmed with relative ease - the elf had brought knives to a magic fight, of course - and managed to recruit him to her cause.

Still, Alistair did not speak to his fellow Warden.

A week went by filled with silence and brooding until Solona finally cornered him as they set up camp one evening.

"You need to talk to me," she said.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Then yell at me, for Maker's sake. Do something. We can't carry on like this."

"Did you have to let her die?" his voice broke on the last syllable.

"Alistair…"

"Blood magic? Really?" he said, his voice filled with disgust. His eyes shone in the failing daylight. She realized he was crying. "I thought you were above that." She flinched at the words.

"I - "

"And now, when he wakes up from this sickness, we have to tell the arl that we murdered his wife." The words hung in the air between them.

She sighed, staring at his feet. "I don't agree with blood magic," she said slowly. "But it was either that or kill the boy. What would you have preferred?"

"We could have gone to the Circle of Magi…"

"That would have been a two day round trip," she said, her voice rising. She noticed the others look over at them then, but she didn't care. "The villagers would never have survived!"

"You don't know that - "

"Did you see how tired they were?" she cut across him. "They were exhausted, Alistair. They had been fighting for Maker knows how long. One more day could have been the difference between life and death for those people - "

"We could have _tried_ ," he shot back at her, his voice rising too. "We could have ridden hard for the Circle and tried, instead of killing an innocent woman."

"She was willing - "

"She was upset! She wasn't thinking clearly. We should have reasoned with her," Alistair folded his arms, glaring at her.

Solona threw her hands in the air. "Okay, well, from now on, you make the decisions."

"What?"

"I didn't see you jumping up and down with opinions when we were trying to decide what to do!" she said, her face flushing with anger. He opened his mouth to say something but she continued, the fire within her blazing. "No, you stood there with your hands in your pockets and let me make the decision, even if you disagreed. The same as I have been making all the decisions since we left fucking Ostagar, because you're too much of a coward to man up and make the decisions yourself."

His shoulders dropped as his rage subsided, the winds now out of his sails at her words.

"So, you're right - probably shouldn't have let the arlessa die, but I did what I needed to do with the choices I was given. Connor is alive and the demon is no more. Now we're going to get these stupid fucking ashes and hopefully they save the arl too. After that, I'm done. You pick what we do from now on because clearly I never make the right choice."

At that, she spun on her heel and stormed off into the trees, her mabari, Shadow, hot on her heels as she disappeared into the growing darkness.

The rest of the trek was awkward silence as they ascended the mountain road to Haven, broken only with singing from Leliana and ramblings from Zevran. The air was cooler up here, but nowhere near as icy as the space between the two last Wardens of Ferelden.

And as their terrible luck continued, they ended up fighting their way through Haven, and the caves and the ruins leading to the temple. Crazed cultists and raging demons were around every corner, as well as giant spiders and other nasty creatures she had not yet encountered before. Solona had seen dragonlings in cages at the Circle, but seeing them wild frightened her at first, their mouths dripping with slaver and their eyes hungry. She had never before seen a full-grown drake, and fighting the few they encountered in the caves took their toll on the group.

The Gauntlet itself, leading to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, had been the real test. The Guardian questioned Solona if she had failed Jowan and if she would forever feel responsible for his actions that brought the death of others.

 _"I see the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past. Your suffering, and the suffering of others. You betrayed Jowan, and he lost the one thing that mattered. Lily. Jowan trusted you. Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?"_

She hadn't responded, not wishing to bring any attention to her shortcomings to the rest of the group. She felt Alistair's eyes on her and knew the name Isolde hung in the air between them, unsaid.

The ashes retrieved, they left the Gauntlet, to be met by a full-grown high dragon outside, standing in between themselves and the way back to Redcliffe. The beast was snarling and hungry, angry and territorial, and they found themselves in the fight for their lives. Solona conjured up as much mana as she could to battle the enormous mass of fire and scales, and let out a scream when she saw Alistair disappear behind a wall of flame.

Somehow, the party managed to bring the beast done with Sten's great hammer and Leliana's arrows; Zevran's twin blades and Solona's lightning storm; Shadow's fangs and Alistair's sword.

It was Alistair who finished the monster off, climbing atop its great head and plunging his sword through its skull. Solona hadn't realized she was crying until she had wrapped her arms around the warrior, whose armor was scorched and shield burnt to a crisp but was no worse for wear.

"I thought I lost you," she sobbed against his pauldron.

He chuckled from behind his visor. "Not getting rid of me that easily," he said.

"I'm sorry I made you angry," she said as he let her go, hands holding her shoulders gently. "I - "

"I understand," he said gently. "I'm sorry too. You were right."

The reconciliation between the Grey Wardens made the journey back to Redcliffe a joyful affair, all things considered. They compared the fangs they pulled from the dragon's corpse and discussed what armor they wanted to be made from the scales collected. They laughed and joked about their adventures thus far as their horses trotted merrily along, happy to be away from dragon territory.

It was heading back to Redcliffe that Alistair finally told Solona about his true parentage.

"I just wanted you to like me for me," he said quietly as their horses plodded down the valley towards the town.

Solona thought for a moment. "Does this mean you have lots of money?'

"What? No," said Alistair, shaking his head.

"Then I definitely don't like you more," she said with a wink, to which he laughed.

Giving the ashes to the healers at Redcliffe, Bann Teagan urged them to continue gaining their treaties. "The healers say it will be some time before the medicine takes full effect," he told them. "Don't waste your time here waiting."

So after a nights rest, they were on their way again, heading north towards the Circle Tower.

Kinloch Hold loomed in the distance as they made their way to the lake.

"Welcome home," remarked Alistair as they approached the docks.

But something hadn't felt right.

Reaching Kinloch Hold, at last, they learned that the tower was on lockdown, and the Rite of Annulment was a day away from being declared. Abominations were running amok within, and one name entered Solona's mind.

 _Cullen._

The young templar was not with the ones remaining outside the great doors, and as much as she really didn't want to see him again, Solona was anxious to make sure he was okay. To see if anyone else had survived. She didn't have many friends at the Circle, but she still cared. Dammit, she cared too much.

The battle had been bloody, the abominations hideous and the demons terrifying. A wave of relief washed over her upon encountering Wynne, her old mentor, and friend. Together, they led the party through the hallways, taking down all sorts of enemies. Most were twisted beyond recognition, but the few remaining blood mages she knew - mages who had made her days in the Circle miserable and lonely.

Solona tried to reason, but seeing her seemed to spur them on, hurling magic at her with such force she nearly lost her footing. As she battled them with her own magic, she couldn't help but wonder: _did they turn to blood magic because of me?_ Wynne had always told her that she was a talented young mage, that Irving valued her and favored her because of her abilities. Wynne assured her the other mages were jealous of her accomplishments, and it was insecurity that led them to bullying.

 _Was it that jealousy that led them to forbidden magic?_

Feeling responsible once more, she fought back with newfound gusto and was able to overpower the blood mages as her friends battled at her side.

Smeared in the blood of former roommates and peers, covered in soot and scorch marks and Maker knows what else, they continued onwards, against more demons, until they encountered a demon of Sloth that thrust them into the Fade.

The third time in a year, Solona was able to outmaneuver the dreams of the Fade, rescuing her friends and defeating the demon. She felt tears prickling her eyes when she observed Niall's lifeless body - the older mage had always been kind to her, and he had been brave, in the end.

Feeling as though time was running out, the hurried towards the Harrowing chamber, encountering more demons and reanimated corpses, cutting them down with swords and knives.

Solona stumbled as she came to the stairwell leading to the Harrowing chamber above.

"Cullen?"

The young templar was without his armor, his shirt and breeches torn and bloody. His hair disheveled and his eyes wild, tears streaked down his dirty cheeks.

"This trick again? I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong…"

"Cullen, don't you recognize me?" She approached him slowly, aware of the barrier that glowed a ruby red around him. She held out a hand, but it hummed and crackled at her touch, scalding her fingertips. She withdrew her hand. It was blood magic that powered the barrier, but why? Why was Cullen being held? "It's me, Solona."

"How far they must have delved into my thoughts…" Cullen said, his voice hoarse with grief and fear as he crouched away from her, covering his face with his arms. "Sifting through my thoughts…tempting me with my sin. The one thing I always wanted but knew I shouldn't have," he sobbed, hands clasping together as if in prayer. "Using my shame against me, my ill-advised infatuation and lust for her…a mage, of all things. Maker, forgive me for the things I have done, the things we did…I allowed it to happen but my duty was to refrain…"

Solona felt the eyes of her party members on her again, and her stomach clenching in guilt and sadness at the shell of the man she knew as he sobbed in front of her.

"Sounds like someone was quite the heartbreaker," Zevran mumbled from behind. Solona ignored him, though she closed her eyes in anguish.

"I am so tired of these cruel jokes, these tricks, these…"

"I'm here to help you, Cullen - "

"Silence! I'll not listen to anything you say, now begone!" He looked up at her then, his eyes flashing angrily. Understanding seemed to cross his face as his eyes met hers, and she held his gaze.

"I am no demon, I'm here to help." She said, keeping her voice steady.

"Where is Uldred?" Said Wynne.

"In the Harrowing chamber," said Cullen, looking at Wynne, then back to Solona. "Why have you returned?"

"Is that so surprising? This was my home," she said, holding back tears. He hates me. "Where is Irving?"

Cullen nodded back up the steps in answer. "They're all up there. The few mages who survived. Oh, Maker, the sounds coming out of there - "

Solona nodded, turning to her companions. "Let's get going, we need to save - "

"No," said Cullen, his voice cracking with anger. "No one up there needs saving. You need to kill them all for what they've done. They caged us like animals…they found ways to break us. They tortured us and taunted us and many they turned into monsters…or killed. Oh, Maker. Dylan, Rickon…" he voice cracked again, sadness crossing his face. "I'm the only one left. There was nothing I could do."

"I'm so sorry," Solona said, crouching down to be at his level as she looked at the man she once loved through a barrier of blood magic. "Cullen, please. Not all mages are like this. I'm not like this, you know me. Just trust me, it'll all be over soon - "

"You can't save them," he said, looking at her with familiar amber eyes that no longer showed love for her. "You don't know what they've become. To think, I once thought we templars were too hard on you. Only mages have that much power at their fingertips, and only mages can be corrupted in such a way by the whisperings of demons. You have to end it, now - "

"I will not kill innocent people for the sins of others," Solona said, rising to her feet and clenching her fists at her sides. "I need to see them for myself. I do not want the blood of innocents on my hands."

She made her way up the steps to the Harrowing chamber, leaving Cullen behind as her companions followed.

"No one ever listens, not until it's far too late," Cullen said to her back.

Fighting Uldred after he turned into a gruesome abomination had been difficult, but the group endured, as always. The remaining blood mages who had not perished fled, leaving behind many casualties. Irving was weakened, his blood having been used for Maker knows what sort of rituals, but Wynne was able to stem the bleeding with healing spells.

Back down below, knight-commander Greagoir was readying for the Rite of Annulment, Cullen at his side. The sight of Irving, alive and well, however, made him pause.

"It's over," Irving announced. "We have been saved."

Solona supported Irving's decision - the abominations and demons had been cleared out, thanks to her and her friends. She bitterly thought about how it should have been the templars duty to clear the tower and rescue the innocents, not hers.

She tried to bid farewell to Cullen, reaching out a gentle hand to touch his arm. He flinched, jerking away from her. "Don't touch me, mage."

 _Mage_ , as though it were an insult. The lips that had once kissed her were pulled back in an angry grimace, the arms that had once held her stiffened. Her heart broke.

"His hatred of mages is so intense," Alistair said as they made their way back across the lake. "The memory of his friends' deaths is still fresh in his mind." But the words did nothing to soothe her.

They set up camp on the southeastern shores of Lake Calenhad, washing their filthy armor and aching bodies in the cool water and letting the newly joined Wynne tend to their wounds.

Solona set up her tent out of sight of her party, with Shadow as her only companion. The mabari lay a couple of feet away, ever watchful of his master.

She just wanted to be alone.

Her scream under the water bubbled before her face, and she let her rage and heartache course through her lungs until she had no breath left. She re-emerged from the water, gasping, breathless, and numb to the cold.

She realized she was weeping when she made her way back to the shore, bare feet slipping on slimy, moss-covered rocks. She wrapped herself in a towel and rummaged through her pack, pulling out clean, dry clothing. She pulled the thin cotton shirt over her dripping head and pulled simple leather breeches up her pale, trembling legs, then pulled thick woolen socks up to her knees. Then, she busied herself with a small fire, letting flames coarse through her fingertips to light it.

She watched the sun set over the distant mountains, the growing darkness spreading through the trees like a bruise. Her hair hung still wet down her back, and she shivered, pulling a blanket over her shoulders.

It was dark when she heard footsteps approaching, and Shadow turned his great head to observe the newcomer.

Alistair emerged from the shadows, carrying two wooden steaming bowls. The smell of stew reached her nostrils, and her stomach growled.

"Thought you might be hungry," he said, placing the bowl in front of her and lowering himself to sit cross-legged next to her. Out of his armor, she could see every curve of muscle through his shirt from a lifetime with sword and shield.

"Thank you, Alistair," she said, taking the bowl and scooping a spoonful into her mouth. The rich taste of wild rabbit, herbs, and spices touched her tongue, and the warmth of the broth spread through her body.

"I've been meaning to apologize," said Alistair slowly. "I know I've been the one moping around a lot and being pretty awful to deal with. I suppose I forgot that you haven't been having the best of times either." He paused, looking sideways at her. "How are you holding up?"

Solona shrugged. "I would be lying if I said I was fine."

"I know today was hard for you," he said. "If you need to talk, you know I'm here. You were there for me when we lost Duncan. Maybe I forgot that along the way, but I know it now." He took a mouthful of stew, chewed, swallowed. "I've been quite the selfish arse, haven't I?"

Solona grinned sideways at him. "You said it, not me."

He chuckled. "You're pretty amazing, you know that, right? You are always trying to do the right thing, no matter what. I admire that in you. I hope it's something you never lose."

She felt a smile at the corner of her lips. "Thank you for that, truly."

They sat in silence as they ate their stew, watching the dark waters of the lake reflect the moon and stars. Shadow grunted in his sleep, chasing some prey in his dreams. The fire crackled merrily, oblivious to the problems of the world.

"You recognized some of the mages, didn't you," said Alistair. "The ones that attacked us."

Solona nodded. "They were in the same dormitory as me. We had research hours together in the library. They were a bunch of bitches."

Alistair laughed heartily at that. "I bet they were."

"I was a late bloomer, so to speak. I came to the Circle much later than many of them, and still, I excelled at magic faster than they did. I know now that they were mostly jealous of my abilities. No wonder they turned to blood magic…" she grimaced, bitter at the thought. "I was the one who let Jowan escape. You know that, right?"

Alistair shook his head.

She placed her empty bowl on the ground next to her. "I didn't know he was using blood magic. I just knew he was going to be made Tranquil and I cared for him. I was his best friend. But then he used blood magic to escape after I helped him destroy his phylactery." She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly. "I hate him for lying to me, but I hate myself more for letting him escape. If he hadn't escaped, maybe the others in the tower wouldn't have turned to blood magic too. If he hadn't escaped, Isolde - "

Alistair put his empty bowl next to hers and reached out an arm, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her slender shoulders. "Don't," he said against her hair. "You can't blame yourself for everyone else's choices."

She wiped a tear that trailed down her cheek, surprised to find she was crying again. "I was a fool."

"We're all fools, sometimes," said Alistair. "Morrigan will tell you I'm a fool all of the time."

"I bet she will," said Solona, smiling though her eyes brimmed with tears. "I know I originally wanted to let Jowan go…to tell the arl to release him…"

"But you would rather he was punished," Alistair finished for her.

She nodded slowly. "Yes. No more blood magic. It's vile and wrong and I hate it, Alistair. I hate myself for allowing it to happen. Oh, Maker," she buried her face in her hands. "The look he gave me, as though it were I who used it directly. I never thought he would look at me with so much venom and hatred. I've really fucked up."

"The templar?" said Alistair, rubbing a hand up and down her back as she let a sob leave her lips. "He was traumatized, that much is clear. During templar training, we hear of the ways demons can torment you. It's…brutal, to say the least. He saw the worst of the mages, and it was wrong of him to lump you in with the rest of them but you can't blame him."

She nodded again, but her stomach still clenched. She worried that she was going to vomit her dinner, but swallowed hard and rested her head on her knees. "He was my lover, once," she said quietly. "All the things he was saying weren't just of visions. The night I left the Circle I ran into him at the Inn…" she nodded her head in the general direction. "We ended up in bed together."

Alistair nodded but said nothing. "I knew he was infatuated with me, and I definitely felt the same way. He was always so kind to me. He used to watch over me while I gardened in the greenhouse and we would sit as close as we dared during Chantry services. I don't even really believe in the Maker - " she said as she felt Alistair giving her a sideways look. "But I liked the music. It reminded me of my childhood and I liked hearing my voice with his. He has a beautiful voice."

She sighed, relaxing into Alistair. "Now he's just another angry templar who hates mages. And I know I can't take the full blame for all the blood magic, but I can take responsibility for taking advantage of him. I know he is a religious man and takes his duty very seriously. I ruined that for him."

She had never said it out loud before, and it felt cathartic, letting the words she had been holding so close be heard by someone else.

There was a fluttering overhead as a bird took off from the trees, and Solona watched as something caused ripples in the dark water, making the reflection of the moon flutter. The breeze was cool against their skin, and Solona pulled another thin blanket from her pack and pulled it up around them as Alistair shuffled back and leaned against one of the trees behind them. Solona curled up next to him, her head resting on his chest. She listened to his heartbeat through the thin material of his shirt, listened to his breaths and tried to match hers to his.

It had been a long time since she had felt so calm, and time seemed to stand still.

"You can't blame yourself for everything," said Alistair, breaking the comfortable silence. His calloused fingertips were running up and down her bicep absent-mindedly, and the proximity made her feel giddy. "We all make mistakes, but as long as you're trying your best, no one can expect more."

She nodded slowly, though still didn't feel much better.

"Take it from me, I'm the king of mediocrity," he said.

"You mean the _prince_ of mediocrity," she said, a small smile curling at her lips.

He jabbed a finger into her ribs, making her giggle. "Smart-arse," he said, chuckling. "We were both there, at Ostagar," he said, becoming serious once more. "The days after I went over the hundreds of things we could have done differently…we could have defied our commanders' orders and gone to the battle anyway, we could have tried to save Duncan and the king…but then I think, more than likely we would have died. Or not, but we will never know. And it doesn't do to dwell too much on what-ifs and could-have-beens."

Solona leaned back so she could look at him properly. "Who are you, and what have you done with the real Alistair?" she said, smiling. "That was quite a bit of wisdom you just spewed."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm more than just a pretty face," he said, tickling her ribs again and pulling her close as she let out another giggle. "You were raised in the Chantry yourself, you understand that they say the Maker has a plan and all that," he continued again as she cozied up against him and convinced herself it was merely to keep warm in the growing nighttime chill.

"You never did strike me as the pious type," she interjected and felt him smile against the top of her head.

"I didn't have a choice," he said. "And throughout the many lectures and lessons, something had to get through my thick skull. Anyway - sometimes it's nice to think that there is some type of force out there, moving us in the directions we are supposed to go, the places we need to be."

"You think the Maker wanted the disaster at Ostagar to happen?" she said, frowning.

"Not exactly," he said, continuing running his fingers up and down her arm. "But I'm starting to think that everything happens for a reason - at least, it gives me some comfort."

"What good ever came of Ostagar?" she said.

He was silent for a moment, and she felt him tense up beside her as he took a sharp breath. "I met you," he said simply. She was thankful that the darkness hid her blush as she snuggled in closer to him. "It hurts when I think of how we lost Duncan and the king and everyone else that died that day. But I'm thankful that I have you."

She found herself grinning as they sat near the fading embers of her fire, and she reached for his other hand and squeezed it. "I feel the same way," she said. "We've had our fights, and our differences, but I'm thankful I have you."

He lifted her hand to his face, and she felt the graze of his stubble as he gently kissed her fingers. "I'm glad we can agree," he murmured.

She turned to look up at him then, and he lowered his face and brushed his lips against hers. It was the gentlest of kisses she had ever had - not hurried and hungry like Anders, not desperate and forbidden like Cullen - but soft and tender, and he ran his hand up to rest behind her head as the kiss deepened, and she brushed a hand through his hair.

They broke apart slowly, both smiling shyly at one another. She rested her head back against his shoulder, pulling the blanket up around them. He resumed running his fingertips up and down her bicep, and she closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat and his breathing and letting it lull her to a much-needed sleep.

It had been a long day.


	5. Chapter 5

_Kirkwall, 9:32_

"So, do you treat all of your junior templars this badly?"

It was the first thing she ever said to Cullen, after helping him defeat the abomination that had once been Wilmod.

She had a cocky way about her; all leather with two knives strapped to her slender hips, dark hair that was cut short and fell into blue eyes that always seemed to be amused with what she saw, thin lips always pulled into a smirk, even when she was covered in the blood of her enemies.

He had only been in Kirkwall just shy of a year when he was promoted to knight-captain. Cullen had thrown himself into his duties, quickly learning that the city itself was in turmoil. Kirkwall was muggy and stiflingly hot, as though it were ready to burst aflame at any moment. The tight streets and tall walls did nothing to help Cullen with his claustrophobia, and he was relieved to find that he would be spending most of his time at the Gallows - a small island just off from the rest of the city.

Whether it was the recent influx of refugees from the south, escaping the Blight, or the rumors of blood magic seeping into the walls of the city, he wasn't quite sure yet; however, since the day he set foot in the city - head still spinning and stomach still queasy from the long voyage over the waking sea - he had felt as though the city was just seconds from falling in on itself.

Kinloch Hold had taught him one thing - never give an inch, not even for a second, and especially not to mages.

His new rank as captain gave him private quarters and a desk. He quickly acquired a pile of paperwork and reports from around the city - being second in command to the knight-commander, he ended up with everything left over from his own duties. Most of his work was anything and everything that was not directly handled by the city guard - more specifically, anything to do with demons and blood magic.

He had seen firsthand what damage could be done by blood mages. He had been seen his best friends killed, had been tortured by demons, had seen the lengths blood mages would go to attain forbidden power.

Kirkwall was his home now, and he would not see it burn.

When corruption had been rumored to be popping up within the very ranks of the templars, he had started investigating, wanting to cut the poison out before it spread.

Cullen took no chances anymore.

He followed Wilmod out to the Wounded Coast, and with the help of a few passers-by, he had been quick to defeat the demon.

"I had my suspicions he was up to something," Cullen said in response to her question. "So I followed him out here."

"My, my," she said, eyebrow twitching in amusement. "Quite the aggression just for suspicions."

"He was an abomination, my lady."

"Yes, after you broke his nose and possibly a few teeth," she smirked, arms folded.

He sighed, exasperated with her already. He wondered if a single word that left her lips was ever not dripping with sarcasm or humor, as though everything around her was a joke.

He took into account her companions; a younger, prettier girl with a likeness to her - her sister, he figured. A darker woman with the attire of a pirate, albeit much more revealing - he tried to keep his eyes from wandering the expansive territory of bare skin. And an elf, with olive skin and white-blond hair, carrying a great sword and looking displeased.

"Your accent is Fereldan," he said. "Who may you be?"

"Hawke," she said, holding out a hand for him to shake. "At your service," she said, her eyes shining.

"Ser Cullen Rutherford, knight-captain," he nodded his head to her. "I am currently investigating rumors of corruption amongst my men - which evidentially, is not fruitless." He nodded to the carnage behind him. "I have cause to believe that there may be something going on at the Blooming Rose - the, ah - tavern - "

"Brothel," Hawke said. "Full of lovely ladies."

"Ah, yes," he said, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. "I haven't quite made it there to question the ladies who - "

"Whores," said Hawke, her smirk plastered to her face. "Want me to go snooping for you?"

"Uh, would you?"

"Shit, it's not like we have anything better to do," Hawke laughed.

Over the next few weeks, Cullen quickly learned the value of his friendship with Hawke. She was able to go to the places and talk to the people he otherwise did not have access to. Many of the reports he found were mostly hearsay - he couldn't just break down a door and take someone to the circle on speculation alone.

But Hawke was able to wander the streets of Kirkwall with ease, and she was his eyes and ears.

If anything, she thrived off the danger of it all.

"You're pretty okay for a templar," Hawke said, sipping on Cullen's whiskey she had helped herself to. She leaned back in her chair, boots crossed upon his desk - something he had given up on deterring her from.

"You're pretty okay for a vigilante," he said, before taking a sip of the whiskey she had been kind enough to bring over for him.

He couldn't quite remember when she had started coming to visit him, and he wasn't sure how she had even found his office. She wasn't a fan of templars, and wanted to keep their business meetings on the down-low - so she snuck through the window of his office. He often kept his window open to let in the breeze from the ocean. The saltiness was so unlike his home, and he was happy for the reminder that he was as far away as possible from Ferelden.

"There are guards all over the walls, how ever did you get in undetected?" he asked the first time she climbed from the window sill.

"Magic," she said, wagging her eyebrows. "Joking! Maker's holy tits, do you ever bristle like my dog when he sees a mouse," she laughed. "I'm stealthy."

They had no set schedule for their meetings - sometimes she showed up a couple times in a week, sometimes he wouldn't see her for a month. Once, she had swung through the window as he was washing, and had nodded in approval at the sight of his manhood. He still turned red at the memory.

"So what's the scoop today, captain," she said, scratching at her tousled hair.

He looked over the couple of reports he had kept separate from his main pile. The ones that didn't have as much hard evidence for him to push for a search warrant, but enough to give him the gut feeling that they were legitimate.

"There are some reports from the alienage," he said, handing her the report so she could see the location. "Someone claiming that an apostate is hiding amongst the elves."

Hawke read the paper, then handed it back. "Disregard," she said with a shrug. "I know the elf. She's weird, but not a mage."

Cullen nodded, handing her another report. "This one, then. Down in Darktown…"

Although he knew that sharing such confidential information was probably frowned upon, he had grown to trust Hawke. Because of her, his templars had been able to bring in a couple of apostates - and she was able to rid Kirkwall of blood mages at her own discretion. He was thankful that she never outright said any details to him, but the fact she was fighting for his cause made him feel that sidestepping the rules was okay, sometimes.

At Kinloch Hold, he had learned the importance of not wasting time. Rumors of Jowan being a blood mage were left lingering for far too long, and look what happened there. The templars were limited to their rules and regulations, their policies and investigations. Hawke, not so much.

She also appreciated the gold he supplied her with. It was a mutual business agreement.

"So, any big plans for the summer?" Cullen said after giving her enough information to potentially track down three blood mages. He leaned back in his chair, stretching.

"Actually, Varric and I might be going on an expedition of sorts," she said, getting to her feet and grabbing their glasses. He watched as she made her way to the cabinet where he kept his whiskey.

"Oh?"

"Yep," she said, refilling their glasses with the dark liquid and then returning to her seat. "Gonna make us rich."

"Well, I wish you luck," he said, taking his glass and taking a big gulp. He grimaced at the burn. "Gonna share the wealth when you return?" he said, giving her a rare smile.

Hawke chuckled. "That depends, what will you do for me?" she said, wagging her eyebrows. His face flushed. "I've seen what you're packing, captain. Let me have a taste," she said, leaning forward.

"I, uh - "

"Maker, but it's fun to make you squirm!" she laughed, leaning back and putting her boots back on his desk. "You blushing virgin, you."

He frowned, taking another sip of his whiskey. "Maker's breath…"

"But actually, I plan on buying the old Amell estate for my dear old mum," she continued. "Aren't I just the bestest daughter ever?"

"Amell?" Cullen wondered if he heard her right. A name from his past, one he tried to forget. And yet sometimes, when he was closing in on his next dosage of lyrium and the effects were wearing off, he dreamt of her.

"Yeah," Hawke said, oblivious to his brooding. "Mother's maiden name is Amell. She grew up in that house. By rights, it should be hers but her worthless good-for-nothing brother pissed it away - Maker, Cullen, you look like you've seen a ghost."

He shook his head. "I - I just - I think I knew an Amell, once. Probably a different family."

"Oh, I forgot you're a templar from Ferelden," Hawke said, chuckling again. "You probably knew my cousin, Trixie." At his blank expression, she frowned. "Beatrice? Oh, wait, no - Solona! She started going by her second name because she hated her first so much. Not like I can talk, no one even knows my first name - "

"Yes, I knew her," he said slowly.

"Yeah, her mother is a bitch who abandoned her at a chantry in Lothering when she was a baby. She grew up there and then we eventually moved to Lothering and we spent some of our childhood together. Well, she was closer with Bethany than me - being closer in age and all. She was quite the little shit, actually. I'm sure you saw that in the Circle too."

Cullen nodded but said nothing.

"Then she goes on to become a Grey Warden and kills an archdemon. Now she's the commander or some shit, and getting married too. My, my, how quick they grow up." She chuckled again, wiping a fake tear. "Cullen, what's wrong? You're awfully quiet."

"Just a name I did not imagine to hear again, that's all," he said, clearing his throat.

"Wait, are you - " Hawke said, then started laughing. "Maker's hairy arse, what a small world."

"What?"

"She used to write to my sister while staying at the Circle. It was rare we heard from her, but when we did it was big, long letters, full of teenage angst and shit. She once wrote about a handsome templar she had met, and how he was always so nice to her and how she hoped to one day run away with him and have all his _golden-haired babies_ ," she finished, leaning across the desk and tugging at his curls. She sat down, holding at her sides as she laughed.

"Did she really say that?" Cullen said his face burning.

"Something along those lines," Hawke said, wiping at real tears now. Her pale skin was blotchy with the exertion. "Maker, that is funny."

"Did she say anything else?"

"Why, do you want me to get a good word in for you?" Hawke said, winking. "She's getting married now, you dummy."

"No, I just mean - " he trailed off. "Nevermind."

"What?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, come on," she said with a roll of her eyes. "It's not like you shagged her - "

Cullen looked up too quickly, and her eyes widened.

"You did?"

"It wasn't like that - "

"Oh," said Hawke, crossing her arms. "How so?"

"It's complicated - can we speak of something else, please?"

"Complicated, how?" Hawke cocked her head to one side. "Oh, because of the whole templar-mage thingy?"

"Well, she wasn't a circle mage anymore, if that's what you mean."

"So what - "

"Hawke," he said, so firmly she actually shut her mouth for once. "It's going to bring up painful memories. Just drop it, okay?"

Hawke pursed her lips but nodded. "Fine."

 _Kirkwall, 9:33_

It was while Hawke was gone that the report crossed Cullen's desk.

A warrant for the arrest of Bethany Hawke.

Cullen gulped. Of course, he had had his suspicions. But whenever he brought them up, Hawke had waved them away. He didn't want to push it too much in fear of losing his contact to the seedy underbelly of the city, so he dropped it.

But now, here it was in black and white. An order from knight-commander Meredith. An order he dare not question.

He had volunteered to be the one to extract her. He at least was an acquaintance with the family and would be as gentle as he could about it.

But he was not prepared for Leandra's crying.

Crying made he uncomfortable in the best of situations, and in contrast to Bethany's calmness, it was quite jarring.

"It's okay, mother," the girl said. "I'll be okay."

"I've already lost one baby," Leandra screeched as her brother held her back. The two templars who had accompanied Cullen reached for their hilts, but Cullen waved them down. "How dare you take another from me! You monsters. You're all monsters."

"I'm sorry, Lady Leandra," said Cullen. "It's for the best."

"For years you bastards hunted my husband and now he's dead and you're taking our baby away," Leandra sobbed as Bethany walked silently to Cullen, who put her in shackles carved with ruins to dispell magic.

"I trust you, but it's just a precaution," he whispered apologetically to her.

"I know," she responded, big eyes full of sadness."

"Just you wait until Alicia hears of this!" Leandra called from the doorway as they made their way down the steps to the awaiting carriage. Cullen preferred to keep extractions hidden from prying eyes, and pulled Bethany's hood on her cloak over her head gently.

Hastily, they climbed into the carriage before Leandra's hollering lured curious people to their windows, and with a crack of a whip, they were off, trundling down the uneven road.

Cullen, now alone in the carriage while his fellow templars sat with the driver, felt uncomfortable. "I'm really sorry - "

"It's okay," she said, giving him a faint smile. "I'm sort of relieved, really."

"Relieved?"

"You caught me," she said, holding up her shackled wrists. "No more running, no more hiding. Sort of a blessing in disguise, really."

Cullen stayed silent. The contrast between the Hawke sisters was bizarre. Bethany was quiet and polite, calm and collected, as opposed to her wild and abrasive sibling.

Bethany sat quietly for the remainder of the trip, her hands resting in her lap as the carriage trundled towards the docks. Cullen watched the nightsky as they went, wonderin about the shitstorm that was coming when Hawke returned home and found out her sister was gone.

Cullen was off duty and thinking of heading to bed for an early night when he received word that there was a situation at the Chantry courtyard. He was about to disregard it and leave it to the city guard until he heard who the accomplices were.

"Maker's breath," he said, grabbing his cloak and storming from the room.

A quick trip across the water and through High Town, he found a small crowd of bystanders at the archway into the Chantry's courtyard. The muggy heat of the day seemed to have seeped into the stone buildings of the city, which now radiated the heat back into the night. Cullen felt sweat running down his spine underneath his armor, his face shiny and pink.

Ser Aveline, the captain of the city, saw him approaching with half a dozen templars and marched over, hand on the hilt of her sword and her face grave.

"I have this under control, Ser Cullen," she said. "Just a stupid drunken prank, we'll have it cleaned come morning - "

"Let me see her," Cullen said, sighing. So much for an early night. "I know what this is about," he added, and Avaline nodded. So did she.

She stepped aside and led Cullen and his entourage forward. Through the crowd and a row of city guards, he was met with quite the mess.

Plant pots had been smashed and the soil spilled all across the marble steps leading to the chantry. He saw several glass bottles had been smashed, as well the remains of the chantry board broken into pieces.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

It looked as though they had ripped down the hanging man sign from the tavern in Lowtown, dragged it up to Hightown, and left it sitting in a crude position at the foot of the steps.

Along the wall behind it, the words 'Suck It Fuckers' had been painted in sloppy black words, splotches of paint dripping underneath.

"For fuck's sake, Hawke," Cullen muttered.

Sitting on the ground, back to back with their wrists shackled together, was Hawke and Isabela. Before even getting close he smelt the booze, heavy in the air surrounding them, and upon seeing him approach, Hawke whistled.

"Here he is!" she cried. "Big cock Cullen and his gang o' fuckers."

Isabela chuckled, her head lolling against Hawkes' shoulder. "He can arrest me any day," she said.

"So, where the fuck's me sister," Hawke slurred.

"At the circle tower, where she belongs."

"Oh, blow me," Hawke said, rolling her eyes. "Belongs, sheshongs," she added, then sniggered to herself. "That doesn't even make sense."

"You don't make sense, you stupid drunk bitch," said Isabela. "Oh, fuck, Hawke. You got me in trouble again."

"You get yourself in trouble, o pirate queen," said Hawke, stretching out the last syllable.

"Hawke, this is serious," said Aveline, looking especially disgruntled.

"Oh, what? The paint job?" Hawke said, shrugging.

"Paint job, blow job, hand job, rim job," said Isabela, then sniggered.

Avaline went to say something, but Cullen touched her elbow and shook his head. He slowly approached the duo, crouching down so he could be at eye level.

"Hawke," he said. "I know you're upset - "

"That's an understatement," she said, glaring at her feet. She was missing a boot.

"But acting out isn't going to get you any favors."

"I jus' wanna see her," she said, looking up at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and watery, and he realized she was crying. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Cullen nodded his head. "I'll see if I can set up a meeting. But you need to behave, or you're going to end up in jail."

"It's not so bad," said Isabela, shaking her head. "Happened to me a few times - I turned out fine."

Cullen ignored her. "Now, I'll order you set free - on the condition, you behave, go home, sober up, and come back tomorrow to clean this mess and pay for the damage."

Isabela threw her head back and groaned, but Hawke nodded solemnly. "Deal."

Cullen nodded, then stood up. "Release them," he said.

Aveline looked choked. "But - "

"By order of the templars, release them," he said, although he shrugged apologetically to Avaline.

The city guards fumbled with the keys and released the girls, who both unsteadily got to their feet.

"So, what shall we do now?" said Isabela, rubbing her wrists.

"We're escorting you both home," said Avaline firmly. "What hole in the ground did you come from?"

"Oh, Hawke, can't I stay at yours?" Isabela whined.

"Come on," said Hawke, roping an arm around her friends' shoulders. "Off we pop."

"See you here tomorrow, Hawke," Cullen called after the escorting guards. "Don't make me come looking for you."

Cullen arrived the next morning to find Hawke and Isabela already scrubbing at the paint on the walls. They stank of whiskey and beer and both looked haggard, but he was pleased to see they kept to their word.

"Hope you're not feeling too worse for wear," said Cullen as he approached with a couple of his fellow templars.

Hawke groaned.

"We would've been to bed much earlier if someone didn't want to angry fuck," said Isabela, rolling her eyes.

Cullen closed his eyes momentarily - he really did not want to picture that lest he lost control - then sighed.

"There is going to be a fine, you know."

"I know."

"You're fine," Isabela added with a wink.

Cullen rolled his eyes. "What were you thinking?"

"I wanted to see my sister," Hawke said, dropping her rag on the floor and standing up straight. "You took her from me."

"It was an order I couldn't ignore."

"Fuck orders."

"Unless we're naked," Isabela added.

"Hawke," Cullen said, sighing. "Why trash the place?"

"Because I wanted - "

"To see your sister, I know, you said that," he said, growing impatient. "But why trash the chantry."

"They wouldn't let me in," Hawke said, squaring her shoulders.

"Why were you trying to get into the chantry?'

"To see my sister!" Hawke said, her voice rising.

"Hawke," said Cullen, trying to hide a smile. "We don't keep the mages here."

Her shoulders slumped. "What?"

"We keep them at the Gallows."

"I thought that's where you lived?"

He shook his head. "It's where we all live."

"Then who lives there?" Hawke said, pointing up at the tall tower of the chantry.

Cullen couldn't hide his grin. "The Grand Cleric and the sisters?"

"And that prudish bastard Sebastian," Isabela added.

"Oh, fuck me," Hawke said, kicking at a bucket of soapy water and sending it splashing across the cobblestones. "For fucks sakes."

Cullen shrugged. "I'm sorry, Hawke - "

"You should be," Hawke said, and he noticed she was crying, although she quickly wiped her eyes. "I have always kept her safe. I wanted to take her into the Deep Roads with me but mother insisted it was too dangerous. I thought she would be safe here - "

"She's safe at the circle - "

Hawke spat on the ground. "Fuck the circle."

"You're angry."

"No shit."

"Just get this mess cleaned up," Cullen said. "Stop acting like an idiot, you're better than that. Smarten up."

She opened her mouth to reply, but thought better and closed it. She sniffed, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "A letter, from our mother," she said. "Will you give it to her? Please?"

Cullen took a breath, glancing at his fellow templars. "You know I can't."

"Please?"

"No."

She bit her lip and nodded, clasping the paper between her fingertips and looking down at the ground.

Cullen turned to his men and nodded. "Back to the Gallows," he ordered.

As the templers turned to lead the way back through Hightown, Cullen snatched the letter from Hawke's fingertips and slipped it into his belt.


End file.
